Chopin
by TheEndOfTheDay
Summary: Catherine Adams visits Spencer Reid. His mind's been destroyed by Alzheimer's. He doesn't remember her and she wants revenge. Set twenty-three years after S11 E11 "Entropy"


The dark haired and darker-minded woman walked into Bennington Sanitarium to see an old friend. Though, friend may be a strong word as they only knew each other for the better part of an evening that started with her pulling a gun on him and ended with her arrest. She won in the end. He has Alzheimer's. He doesn't remember her and he's defenseless. Twenty-three years in prison and she was finally going to get her revenge.

"Hello," She said sweetly to the woman at the receptionist's desk. "I'm here to visit a friend of mine, his name is Spencer Reid."

"Of course," The woman's tag read Bethany, "And how do you know Mr. Reid?"

"We dated a couple times when we were in college."

"And I'll need to see your ID."

The woman pulled out her ID as she spoke, "You know, when I heard that Spence was in a place like this I just knew I had to see him. He was so sharp when he was young and it is just such a shame that his mind has left him. Do you think he'll remember me?"

As Bethany checked her ID she answered monotonously, "Not likely considering you were just an acquaintance and how far he's gone. Just go right through those doors Miss Anderson, he'll be in room 117." The receptionist returned her ID and returned to her computer without much more than a second glance.

"Thanks." she replied shortly. As she stepped away her false smile disappeared.

As she walked toward the room she began to hear music. Chopin. It was sad and lonely, almost eerie in the evening light of the empty hall.

She knocked gently and opened the door.

He was sitting in an easy chair facing the window to the left. The music came from a stereo that was to the left of the door and a bed was to the right. His eyes opened slowly as she walked towards him thought they didn't meet hers.

"Spencer, do you remember me?" She asked as she sat down in a chair beside his.

He looked well for his age, considering the stress he underwent for most of his life and his current condition. He had few wrinkles and had earned himself some gray hairs on the sides of his head. When he turned to look at her she realized how distant his eyes were. When they had met the first time his eyes were intelligent and focused whereas now they seemed lost and just a little bit sad.

"Who…" His sentence ended there.

She grinned at him and spoke in a soft tone that bled venom. "I'm Cat Adams. You may not remember me, but I was a friend of yours for a brief time while you worked with the BAU."

"BAU?" He looked at the floor as his eyebrows creased.

"You arrested me using a cruel lie. You thought you had won, but I'm back."

"Y-You-… I'm sorry, I'm not good with meeting new people." He turned to her again and sat up in his seat a little.

"I have something for you." Cat said, grabbing at his hand to put something into it.

"Don't touch me!" He growled loudly, pulling his hand away and sinking back into his chair. "Don't touch me." He stared out the window now angrily.

Cat smirked, "You really do have it, bad." She muttered to herself. "Look at what I brought for you." She continued louder as she held out her hand and inside a wedding ring.

"24 Karat. It's your wedding ring don't you remember?"

He glanced towards her open hand then back to the window then back to her hand again.

"BAU." He muttered as he shifted in his seat. "I was never married."

"You were; you told me you were. You don't remember me?"

"I was never married." He insisted. "BAU? I remember Morgan. Morgan? BAU. I don't know you!"

She put the ring back into her bag, "You know, Spencer, you're making this a lot less fun than I wanted it to be."

"I-I-I don't really know who you are, I was looking for something. They were evil they killed people and they hurt my friend… You!" He turned to her suddenly with confidence in his eyes, then his expression fell. "I don't know you…" and his gaze wandered back to the window in front of him.

"Spencer, look at me." She ordered. "Spenc-" She stood in his line of sight and hollered. "Look at me!"

His eyes wandered up to hers as realization dawned.

"I didn't want to lie to you. I had no choice. You gave me no choice! You said I couldn't help you, that lots of men said they wanted to help you, but that you didn't want help. I still tried to though. And you believed Morgan's lie about your father being there."

She stared, completely dumb.

"I… I'm sorry we took you with that lie."

She stood shocked as his eyes slowly fell once more.

Chopin permeated the room. Prelude No. 4 in E minor. It fell heavy on her shoulders.

His eyes rose once more to meet hers and he slowly said, "I… don't know you." his tone turned distracted as he began to mutter to himself once more.

"Whatever. This is a waste of time." She growled, pulling out a gun from her bag and pointing its barrel towards him.

He was completely unaware of the danger he was in as he was already speaking, seemingly, to himself. "You know, this song is called one of Chopin's most sorrowful songs. Though it can't be confirmed its title may very well have been _Quelles larmes au fond du cloitre humide?_ Or _What tears are shed from the depths of the damp monastery._ Giving reference to the place in Majorca where he wrote this prelude and many others in his time there. But this song was also called simply _Suffocation_ …" He rambled more on Chopin or at least, it seemed, all he could gather of the scattered memories.

"This is such a waste of time." She muttered angrily to herself, though she didn't lower her weapon.

"In fact this song was played at Chopin's funeral as well as a song of Bach's…"

"Just stop talking!" She yelled.

He stopped and looked at her. His eyes turned sad and gray and distant again as he stared.

The hand that held the gun dropped to her side. "What a waste." She stuffed her gun into her bag and stomped to the exit.

"Cat…"

She stopped as she reached the door.

"I'd… I'd like a cat."

She watched his eyes droop closed again, lulled to rest by the slow nocturne that had just begun.

 **I admit that I don't have intimate experience with Alzheimer's and dementia, but this idea came to mind and I couldn't rest until I had written it.**

 **I'd love to hear what you think of this story, reviews are always appreciated.**


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